


Stuck In The Middle

by Nova_Turient



Series: Scrambled (aka: Doctor and Master keep meeting in the wrong order) [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, M/M, One Kiss, One Shot, One fidgety Time Lord, One very naughty Psychic Projection, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28601733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nova_Turient/pseuds/Nova_Turient
Summary: He huffs and puffs, stomping towards the console, past the Time Lord standing in his TARDIS, and the ramp of stairs the lead him to the—The Doctor freezes and slowly, slowly turns to look. The Master, all snake eyes and impeccable Time Lord robes, greets him with a wide grin.“Hey.” he drawls.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/The Master (Roberts), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Series: Scrambled (aka: Doctor and Master keep meeting in the wrong order) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101014
Kudos: 28





	Stuck In The Middle

**Author's Note:**

> The thrill of typing in the ship when no one else did before.

The winds of the Time Vortex roar, lightning strikes with unrestrained power against the swirling clouds. A tiny blue box twirls on itself inside it, slowing down until it stops dead in its track, in the middle of that spiral of chaos. The roof light burns brighter and brighter with a dangerous buzz before definitely shutting down with a subtle pop and a swirl of smoke.

The door swings open. The Doctor, propping a suspender up his shoulder, grabs the phone from its compartment, and starts shouting above the roaring wind.

“Amyyy!?” he takes a deep breath “Amy!”

“What?” Amy squeals from the other end.

The Doctor recoils back inside his TARDIS, trapping the phone cable in between door and frame when he slams it shut.

“What did you do to my TARDIS?” he shouts, with the same intensity as before.

Amy, sounding distinctly more distant from the receiver, scoffs “What?!”

“It’s stuck!” he explains, unhelpfully.

“W— How should I know?!”

The Doctor starts pacing the room to calm his nerves, but fails miserably when the stuck phone cable slings him back to the door.

He starts fidgeting with his fingers instead “Because you were the last one that touched the controls and now I can’t move!”

“I just pulled the lever like you told me.”

The Doctor pauses, glares at his console “Which lever?”

“The blue one.”

“Teal or Navy?”

Amy scoffs “Oh, I don’t know! Navy?”

The Doctor groans, spins, wrapping himself in the cable “Okay Amy, you gotta listen to me very, very carefully now.” he tries, voice even.

“Are you about to send me to UNIT and fetch you Kate?” Amy asks.

“Yes!”

“No can’t do.”

The Doctor smile falls as fast as it appeared “Why not?!”

“It’s Rory’s little sister Birthday. And I am the kissogram.” Amy explains, while a rumble of children’s laughter run past her.

He scrunches his face “Kissogram?”

“Yes.”

“At a birthday party?!”

“Yes.”

The Doctor ponders for a moment “Is Rory okay with this?”

“Why shouldn’t he?” Amy questions, her mouth full of something he imagines being cake.

The Doctor decides it’s time to untangle himself from the cable and starts uselessly pulling at it with little to no result.

“Because when I kiss— _No!_ When _you_ kissed me he got extremely upset about it.”

Amy snorts “That was a full on snog, Doctor, these are ten years old. I’m gonna kiss them on the cheek, give them cake and send them away.”

“Still very improper.” he mumbles.

“Don’t you take the moral high ground with me, you married my daughter.” Amy snaps. From another room, Rory calls her name, echoed by a cheer of a dozen kids “Gotta go now, Doctor. Sending UNIT your way as soon as I can. Two hours, three tops.”

“Wait!” he calls, finally managing to spin in the proper direction and free himself from the cable. He near his mouth to the receiver and starts whispering “Amy, I could be in great danger. Stranded in the Vortex, you don’t know what atrocities are inside here, what absolute nightmares I could face and— you already hung up, haven’t you?”

No answer from the other end. The Doctor stares at the phone like it just bit him, opens the door and chucks it into the loud storm outside.

Last time he brings them to a spa planet, last time he brings them anywhere fun, they were getting spoiled and ungrateful. Next time he’ll make sure to head for Keramik 4, where all they did was pottery Twenty-four-seven. _Yes! boring_. Even though...Rory would probably like it there.

He huffs and puffs, stomping towards the console, past the Time Lord standing in his TARDIS, and the ramp of stairs the lead him to the—

The Doctor freezes and slowly, slowly turns to look. The Master, all snake eyes and impeccable Time Lord robes, greets him with a wide grin.

“Hey.” he drawls.

The Doctor, with his eyebrows threatening to leave his forehead, shoves a finger in his face’s direction.

“No.” he declares, and then, facing the Time Rotor “No! No! No! What is this? What did you do?!”

Both the Time Rotor and the TARDIS offers no answer, other than raising up and down and Vworping innocently. The Doctor sprints up the steps, rounds the console a couple times and tries to flick a switch, nothing. The Master is still there, patiently waiting. The Eye of Harmony is okay and doesn’t seem to be breached in any way, which is reassuring, and the TARDIS doesn’t seem to notify him with anything peculiar other than—

The light under the navy lever Amy pulled is flashing on and off, he reaches out to push the lever back, but it doesn’t budge. It’s not labelled, like basically everything else on the console, other than the coffee machine. He furrow his brows, groans, knocking on his head in search for the answer to his silent question.

“Security protocols main switch.” he and the Master both say in unison. One considerably more excited than the other.

The Doctor glares at him, and then his eyes grows two sizes “All of them?” he asks.

The Master nods “All of them.” bending backwards, the Doctor groans.

He lets his hands fall down, staring at the ceiling “Protocol 237, Psychic projection deterrent...”

The Master smile only broadens “The TARDIS creates a construct inside the main shell—”

“—that discourages intruders from entering, I know! It’s in the name!” he snarls, jerking his hands about.

He stomps around the console, digits some codes into a numpad, and watches in horror as the screen lights up with what seems to be a comprehensive list of all the security protocols he’d need to deactivate. Something around One Thousand of them. The Doctor screams, body taunt in frustration, he flies down the stairs, ignoring the Master who’s still very much watching his every move.

He reaches for a panel in the underside of the console, getting shocked by high voltage only a couple times. He starts rearranging cables, humming every time the console notifies him with a bing, very similar to a toaster, that a protocol is being deactivated.

“I’m flattered.” the Master says suddenly. The Doctor looks up, a cable in between his teeth “That you choose me as a deterrent.”

The Doctor frowns, lets the cable fall from his mouth “I didn’t choose you! She did!” he spits, tilting his head to the console. The TARDIS vworps pitch up, as to mock his tone, and the Doctor feels a surge of irritation crawl up his neck.

“Has she?” the Master strolls forward “Are you sure it wasn’t you?”

Sprinting to his feet, the Doctior rushes past him, fist clenched. He has at least one hour of boring, uneventful work ahead of him, there’s no time for this psychic constructs and his sass...or flirting, or whatever that’s supposed to be. He storms to the door and grabs the handle, opening to the rumble of the vortex

“Out of my ship, now.” he gestures to the void insistently.

The Master complies, sauntering past him and flashing him a wink, before stepping outside and disappearing beyond the event horizon. The Doctor huffs, slams the door shut and rubs his hands together, getting ready to resume his—

The Master is right behind him when he turns. He grunts.

“I told you, I’m—”

“I know I know! A construct!” The Doctor hollers at him, hands flailing madly in the air. _No escape._

“Married, uh?” The Master comments as they both make their way back to the underside of the console.

The Doctor waves at him “Yes. It’s complicated. She killed me, I married her.” he freezes, turns slowly to him and squints “You eavesdropping?” The Master raises his hands in surrender.

“Just listening.” they both turn, choosing not to delve further into that particular argument “You married your killer, then?”

The Doctor waves a finger at him, admonishing “Don’t get ideas.” he ducks inside an open panel “Or get jealous.” he mumbles.

“You mean to tell me all it took was successfully killing you?”

“ _You_ don't stand a chance.” he says, clearly meaning that very incorporeal version of him.

The Master laughs “It’s the accent, isn’t it?”

“Pedantic.” The Doctor comments.

He grabs a plug and connects it to the wrong socket, somehow, it works. Another protocol erased from the list, only another one thousand eighty-something to go. When he springs back on his feet, he notices the Master materialized a pair of sunglasses on his face.

“The sunglasses?”

He frowns “A bit much, yeah.” the glasses morphs away.

“Snake eyes?”

The Doctor scoffs, staring at his yellow eyes that, he had to admit, had a very peculiar charm to them.

“You are not making a case for yourself, you know?”

The Master shrugs “Just listing things until I say something you like, there’s oughta be.”

“Not dressed like this, there’s not.” The Doctor stares at his hideous clothes, that only reminded him of how much he didn’t want to think about Gallifrey ever again.

The Master helpfully morphs his Time Lord robes into a leather coat.

“I had a leather coat too!” the Doctor cheers, and then grimaces in annoyance “It always squeaked.”

To prove his point he prods a finger into the Master’s chest, the leather gives in under the pressure, and a trembling squeak fills the room when he trails his forefinger down the surface.

The Doctor raises his chin, expecting a comment, possibly one that proves him even more right. The Master is merely staring, one eyebrow raised.

It takes him embarrassingly long to understand what’s wrong. His eyes grow wide, gaze falls down. He jabs his finger against the leather again, and again the fabric moves under his touch. _Touch_...yes because not only this construct seems to be corporeal...he _feels_ corporeal. The Doctor gulps.

The Master eyebrows raises “Psychic projection” he explains.

“Projection.” the Doctor argues weakly, confused and intrigued.

“Psychic.” the Master presses on...literally...with his whole body weight against the Doctor’s finger.

The Doctor retracts his finger before it breaks “Mental constructs can’t be physical.”

The Master takes another step forward...and the Doctor should really start to back off now, shouldn’t he?

“They can for their creator.”

Another step, he’s basically invading his entire personal space “The TARDIS?” The Doctor offers.

The Master sighs, growing impatient “The TARDIS who’s creating a psychic projection with all security protocols active.”

He would like to answer with some banter to his unjust impatience, would like to remember him that his brains work better when he doesn’t have his body pressed flush against him. But that’s not the real Master anyway, he wouldn’t even remember his witty remarks, so what’s the point?

The Doctor’s face lights up when, in that mist of too many thoughts and too much leather, the solution comes to him.

“Protocol 626!” he exclaims.

“Creates a stronger mental link between the TARDIS and its pilot to ensure maximum control over it’s functions.” he tilt his head “I’m not a construct of the TARDIS mind.” he suggests, at last.

The Doctor’s fingers twitch when the Master voice drops an octave and says the words _maximum_ and _control_ one after the other. How unfair of him to always regenerate with pretty voices.

“You should talk more often.” he gulps.

“Found it.” the Master leers, leaning in so their noses fits quite perfectly against each other “The thing you like about me.”

The Doctor finds himself in a predicament when, this close, he can’t do much but stare right in his face. He never spent too much time with this specific Master. To be precise, he didn’t spend time with him at all. The idiot flew himself into the Eye of Harmony forty minutes after their first meeting. His gaze drops to his lips— _oh no._

He tries to convince himself this is a bad idea with the argument that he is not the _real_ Master, but that backfires tremendously. Not the real Master means not the real memories...so no real consequences for either...and, knowing how things tended to go between them, better for the universe at large.

He uses his height to regain a bit more control, tilting his head back to give him a pondering look, before grinning like a lunatic.

“Voice is fine, the accent is a bummer.” he pats his chest “So maybe don’t overdo it, _eh_?”

Grabbing his lapels, and giving himself an internal _Geronimo_ , he bends down and kisses him square on the lips.

Survive stranded inside the Vortex, fix way too many cables, shag a very corporeal mental construct of the Master on the floor and maybe save some time for tea later, while he waits for UNIT to show up and being of absolutely no help.

Did Amy say two or three hours? Oh well, he’s sure he’ll manage to do everything in time.

  
  



End file.
